


Clutter

by Hugabug



Category: Original Work, Other Fandoms To Be Added
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Basically Anything That Has Come To My Mind Will Be Posted Here, Because I Like Platonic Cuddling, Brother-Sister Relationships, But Not Crack, But These Were Just Begging To Be Posted, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Female Friendship, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Historical, Historical Accuracy, Historical Inaccuracy, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, I am, I'm Sorry, I'm so sorry, Male Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, Married Couple, Multi, Or More Like, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Randomness, Some Crack, Though Some, and
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-18
Updated: 2015-09-22
Packaged: 2018-02-05 04:17:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1805023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hugabug/pseuds/Hugabug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Clutter is the physical manifestation of unmade decisions fueled by procrastination." — Christina Scalise</p><p>Or the one drabble/one-shot compilation where the author creates some characters and some worlds, and smashes canon characters and her own original characters together, too lazy to bother with back story, character development, and any explanation.</p><p>The author will also post stories that will often use and/or misuse pronouns because she is also too lazy to choose names for her original characters or figure out what fandom the story actually belongs to.</p><p>Also: Excessive use of anaphoras.</p><p>... *sighs*</p><p>Look. She just really needs a place to store all her junk writing, ok? Maybe get a little advice along the way?</p><p>If it's any consolation, she's really sorry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "Are We Alright?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: First of (hopefully) many. Posting dates are random, seeing that I write most of these simply for fun.

**Summary** : A soldier brother and his army nurse sister come home after the horrors of World War I.

-Xxx-X-xxX-

When he got home, it was silent.

The sky was blue and no cloud was in sight when he got off the carriage, dirty boots hitting the ground and sending a jolt of screeching pain up his injured knee. He grits his teeth, holds in a scream of agony, then goes still.

The pain ebbs away slowly, and he walks a bit up the country road to stand before a house. It's a desolate house, his childhood home. Within is his stern father and the ashes of his dead mother, but he doesn't make a move to go in.

Instead, he stands before the pathway and waits, facing the road.

Minutes pass and the sky is still blue, but now there's a few clouds. He's busy trying to make out the shape of one when dainty feet stir the mud a few paces away. There is a grunt of a tired horse, and a polite "Goodbye!" and another carriage rattles away, sound harsh and grating to his ears. But he doesn't mind it, however. His eyes are on the alighted passenger, not the transport.

He waits for her to catch sight of him, and while he does so, his eyes roam, studying her callused hands, her frowning face, her dark hair. There are changes in her and his heart aches. For her, for him, for the ones like them, who've been tricked the way they've been tricked, for the soldiers and nurses who realized too late that war is war and death is a painful thing.

(There's nothing glorious about war.

There may have been, then. But not anymore.)

She stops when she sees him and her eyes start a trail, beginning from his boots to his scarred hands to his withdrawn face before their gazes lock. Blue clashes with blue, and she pauses. Her eyes are blank, he bets his are, too, and they stare at each other, tired, confused, and in pain.

Then she strides forward, drops her lone bag on the damp ground, and throws her arms around his neck.

He breathes in her scent, delicate flowers mixed with the musk of gunpowder and the sterile whiff of disinfectant. He wraps his arms around her and buries fingers into her coarse hair, mourning the loss of silk touch and the meat on her bones. He leans forward and holds her tighter, as if he can keep her safe and away from the danger that awaits them in bloody trenches and strained clinics. He whispers, over and over again, her name like a prayer, unsure why, but doing so anyway because it just feels so right to hold her close and let time pass them by, just like the old days, before the blood, before the grief.

Before the horror.

"Are we alright?" He asks the inevitable, small voice barely above a croak.

She stiffens, pauses and thinks.

Then, she shakes her head. "I'm not sure."

And they stand there in the deafening silence, the echoing moans of dying soldiers and fatal gun shots kicking and hitting their throbbing temples, ready to haunt them every time they close their eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I once asked my History teacher why World War I produced such a distinct "Lost Generation" when there had been other wars before.
> 
> Then, he told me; "Before the Great War, everybody thought War, or fighting in general, was a glorious thing, usually because it lasted for only so long and didn't encompass that many people. World War I changed all that."
> 
> Those aren't his exact words, he said some other stuff, but this idea was what inspired me to write this.
> 
> So this is dedicated to my History teacher. Thanks, Sir, for giving me such a good idea.
> 
> Constructive criticism is welcome!


	2. Huh

**Summary** : She was a good girl.

-Xxx-X-xxX-

She was a good girl.

Well, by age, she was a woman, but, if one were to judge by spirit, then she was, essentially, a girl. A child whose disposition was sweet and whose gestures were thoughtful. Once you were within her good graces, she could read you like a book, even to go so far as to right a few folds and smooth out a few pages. Each word that escaped her lips were imprinted onto your soul for a long time, if not for the rest of your life, and every little gesture was born from concern and care, sympathy never crossing over and turning into pity, not even once.

She was a sweet girl.

She also gave lots of hugs.

Her hugs were crushing, as if she didn't want to let go and dreaded the idea of separation. And, honestly, that could've had something to do with a childhood trauma of some sort, but she wasn't the kind to bring it up. She never wanted anything to be about her, which was slightly concerning considering that she was human, and humans, at some point in their life, have experienced some kind of pain, but then, her pain never seemed to bother her, so she never bothered to talk about it. To her, you were more important. Your woes and your ideas held more meaning than her own. Your opinions were more precious to her than her own jewelry, and your concern about her health was the only thing to fall on deaf ears.

Probably why she died so early.

Happy, she was, but then she was also sad. Laughter was like air to her, so there were times when she had air, so much of it, surrounded by friends and family who loved her so and were thankful for her existence, and then there were times when she suffocated, her very being spread out thin by the loneliness and the pitch black of her room, memories being the only thing to sustain her for the next time air was available.

And she never told anybody. Didn't think it was a problem.

It ate at her, it did. Started with her youth, and at the age of thirty, she looked fifty, eyes weary and sunken from wisdom beyond her years. Then it moved on to her health, chipped away at her organs, little by little taking over her kidneys and her colon and her heart, invisible soldiers thrashing her veins, destroying everything in their way.

But it never took her happiness away. It didn't make her sour or bitter or hateful. In fact, it just made her more glad, more gleeful. As if her dying was an achievement that had eluded her for a very long time. It was too much, methinks. She was tired of this world, with all the pain and suffering she saw and experienced.

Nevertheless, she still listened. Nothing would stop her from helping out and offering her shoulder to cry on. She was just that kind of person— the one who gave so much and never bothered to keep some for herself.

It's not a good thing, giving too much. She didn't care, though. She died at 32 because of it, in her sleep, a small, sad smile on her face.

Sad. Can you imagine that? In her last moment, she was sad, even if an hour before her final breath she had been laughing on the phone at a joke made by an old mate from University. She probably realized how many people were going to cry if she left them behind like this. Though, that idea seems a little weak. If that was what prompted her to be sad, then she wouldn't have died. She would've stopped Death in his tracks if that was the case. She didn't like it when people were sad.

Maybe that wasn't the case, then.

A sad smile. How could a smile be sad? A smile is a way to express joy, happiness, never sadness. A tad bit ironic, that. Perhaps it had something to do with the irony of the situation. She did like irony. It made her laugh. She liked it when something made her laugh, it was her air, after all. It was the only thing she allowed herself to indulge in. The only present she allowed herself to receive.

That, and death.

... _Huh_.

Anyway. People always marvel at her memory, grieve her death. "The world has become more bleak." they would say. "Everything's dark and gloomy without her." "I miss her so much." "I wish we'd been given more time." you know. The usual.

But it's an unspoken rule to let her go. "She wouldn't want us to grieve. She'd want us to celebrate!" they would say. They're right, though only to a very small extent. It's not that she'd haunt you if you cried for her, or squeal for joy if you dropped her and moved on. No. They should be genuinely happy for her. She spent her entire life, simply clawing for air, looking for happiness left and right, playing a tiring game of cat and mouse, but never once considered the idea that, if she just dropped everything and let herself have some sense of relief, then happiness would be right at her door step.

And she would've been content, because she was sweet like that.

She was a good girl.

She's a happy one now, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This was just suppose to be a nice little Description fic based around the stereotypical "Adopted little sister" you see in books and movies and TV shows and stuff.
> 
> But it turned into this.
> 
> I don't even know what this is.
> 
> Ugh. OTL"
> 
> I blame Neil Gaiman. So this is dedicated to him, one of the greatest writers of our time.


	3. Empty

**Summary** : They're empty.

-Xxx-X-xxX-

The emptiness in her eyes wasn't always there.

They used to be so vibrant and warm and brown. Used to hold so much light and laughter. Used to twinkle with mirth, even in the darkest of hours. Used to be so expressive, never lacking life and hope.

But now, they were nothing.

It hurt, watching her waste away. Each passing day, the light in her began to fade. It was growing dimmer and dimmer and suddenly, it was more difficult to go on. More difficult to smile or laugh. More difficult to remember that despite all they've lost, they still had each other.

More difficult to do anything with those eyes following their every move.

Soon, they had had enough. It haunts them, in their sleep, in their every waking moment. Dead eyes on a living, breathing person. They never rest. They follow and they watch and it drags them down. Drains all hope. Gives them no mercy.

They turn the gun on her, hoping—just hoping—that they would stop. That they wouldn't be empty. That she would react. That the light would come back. That she would remember how to feel.

But she doesn't.

So, they pull the trigger.

And for the first time in a long time, they finally have it in them to smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Suppose to be a Zombie!AU drabble. Came out sorta like that?
> 
> Dedicated to all those with brown eyes. To me, brown eyes are always the most expressive and that trait specifically makes them beautiful.


	4. Bedroom Ceiling, A Poem

**Summary** : There will always be this one person you will never be able to get out of your head.

-Xxx-X-xxX-

There are times late at night

When I stare up at the dark expanse

That is my bedroom ceiling

Times when I toss and turn

Craving rest

But never claiming it

High on a natural drug

Times when I wish to close my eyes

But can't, because your silhouette,

Your smile

Your laugh

Your forehead,

Your hair

Your hands

Your skin,

And

Your everything,

Burns behind the thin covering of skin

That is my eyelids

Imprints itself upon the deprived thing

That is my soul

And dwells within the aching emptiness

That is my heart

As I stare

And stare

And stare

At the dark expanse above me

That is my bedroom ceiling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Written during the wee hours of the morning.
> 
> #Hugot
> 
> #punyeta
> 
> #ugh3AMmeisnotexactlyareliablesecretkeeper


	5. Smile

**Summary** : To love somebody is to loathe their sadness.

_(To love somebody is to use their happiness as your motivation.)_ _  
_

-Xxx-X-xxX-

She doesn’t smile anymore

Which is weird

She should smile

But she doesn’t

Can’t say I don’t know why

I do

But it’s a trivial thing

Didn’t think she’d

Be so upset over it

But she is

So

She doesn’t smile anymore

I try to make her smile though

I try so hard

But she doesn’t smile.

_(Hey.)_

She’s scared

I know that

She’s fearful

I don’t know why

She shouldn’t be

But she is

She says I don’t understand

I want to understand

If only

To see her smile

But she doesn’t smile anymore

_(Please_

_Listen.)_

It scares me

The fact that

She doesn’t smile anymore

I beg her sometimes

When she

Can’t hear me

I beg her to give me a smile

Even if it’s

Just a small smile

But she still doesn’t smile

She’s sad

She’s broken

She doesn’t smile anymore

And I don’t know how to fix her.

_(Just stay with me.)_

It scares me

I used to be able to fix her

But I can’t fix her anymore.

_(Ok?)_

...

Maybe I can

Maybe I’m just not

Trying hard enough

She deserves the best

Doesn’t she?

_(Even if I push you away.)_

Am I not

Enough

Where did I

Go wrong

She doesn’t smile anymore

She used to smile a lot

But she doesn’t anymore

What happened?

_(I don’t want you to go.)_

She still laughs though

It’s not a merry laugh

It’s bitter

And hard to hear

Grating

That’s how I

Would describe it

I know she thinks it sounds

Like a tinkling bell

But it doesn’t

It sounds strained

And…

In pain

Just like her.

_(I may look it_

_But I don’t want you to leave.)_

Still

It’s a laugh

It’s not really a laugh

More of

A gasp really

But it’s a laugh enough.

_(I’ll work hard to get out of this.)_

She calls it a funk

But I know she’s lying

It’s not a funk

Not to her eyes

No

To her it’s a void

A gaping hole that

Leaves her numb

So

Yes

It’s not a funk.

_(Then_

_Once I’m out_

_I’ll smile_

_Just for you.)_

It’s numb

She tells me that

I believe her

She’s grey

And numb

And empty

And broken

How can you

Be all those things

All at once

She’s so strong

And it’s heartbreaking to watch.

_(You’ll see_

_I’ll smile_

_I promise.)_

She opens a void in my chest

Not her kind of void

Not her funk

But a void nonetheless

It doesn’t numb

It stings

But I continue to smile

For her

And I wait for the day she smiles back.

_(Just don’t leave me.)_

Because the day she smiles again

Will be the day we

Can both be whole

So

‘Til then

I’ll try my best

‘Cause

She doesn’t smile anymore—

_(I’ll smile_

_You’ll see.)_

—But she will

“I love you.”

_(“I love you, too.”_

_Be patient, alright?_

_I’ll get out of this._

_For you._

_I promise.)_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Do not put me in front of the keyboard when depressed. Bad things such as this happens.
> 
> On a happier note, I want to thank my English teacher who suggested that I separate the the two points of view through different paragraph alignment. Thanks, Sir. I dedicate this to you X3
> 
> And to all those people who are going through tough times right now. Keep your head held high, everybody. I'm so so proud that you've made it this far. Keep it up!


	6. Six Ways To Fall in Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What it says on the tin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In English class my teacher would give us a prompt and ask us to write then by the end of the term, he'd ask us to submit at least five as a substitute to a Unit Test.
> 
> This wasn't a prompt, but it was something I wrote for his class. Honestly, I was just missing him-- especially now that I've bid my High School Days adieu.
> 
> I was missing all of them, I guess.
> 
> So... This is dedicated to all my High School Teachers. Wonderful bunch, really. Don't know where I'd be without them.

_**At first sight;** _

       It was like lightning. But more pleasant.

       Then she swallowed and now it really was like lightning, ‘cause her chest was starting to ache and her eyes were starting to bulge and her lungs were beginning to burn with the need to draw in air and oh my _god_ , he’s coming this way what’s she supposed to _say_? Her tongue’s not moving! Where the _frick_ did all of her saliva go? _For Christ’s sake_ , she could really use a drink right now and oh _shizz_ he’s standing _right there_ —

       “Caught you starin’. Buy you a drink?”

       And he smiles.

       Oh, she is so _screwed_.

 

_**Slowly;** _

       He liked her immediately, despite how crazy and overwhelming she was. People didn’t peg him as the guy to hang around crazy and overwhelming people. Neither did he. But he liked her. She was an honest girl. He could be honest with her. He liked his friends honest.

       She grins. “Leavin’ for Holland in a few days. Got a job there and I think it’ll really work out.”

       Something lodges itself at the base of his throat and he gulps. “How long are you gonna be gone?”

       “Jus’ for two—maybe three months, tops. Not too long.” Grin turns into smirk and a hand comes up to pinch his cheek. “You gonna miss me?”

       He doesn’t even think. “ _Yes_.”

       She leaves. Then follows the loneliest three months he has ever spent.

       When she comes back, he doesn’t hesitate.

       “So… You wanna go have dinner sometime?”

 

_**Slowly, then all at once—Like falling asleep;** _

       It started with the small things. The way _he_ smiles. The way _he_ laughs. The way _he_ rants. The way _his_ clever words drip from _his_ tongue like honey and coil about his very being like a boa constrictor, squeezing all the air out of his lungs and stealing from him all his witty retorts.

       The way _he_ breaks. The way _he_ shies away from all the attention. The way _he_ fiddles with his hands as he averts his gaze. The way _he_ doubts himself, despite how he thinks _he’s_ _amazing_ and _wonderful_ and oh so _brilliant_ —

       Oh, _shit_.

       He runs to his best friend. She’ll understand.

       She doesn’t.

       “For crying out _frickin’_ loud, you gigantic imbecile! Stop crying—”

       “’M not _cryin’_!”

       “—and man up! Do you _see_ the way he looks at you?”

       He pauses, dares to hope, and suddenly, he feels like flying.

 

_**Blindly;** _

       He offers her his hand and she can’t help but look at him like he’s the sun.

       “Forget them.” He tells her as he pulls her to her feet and steadies her wobbly legs. The blood runs down the side of her face and he reaches out to wipe it away.

       She finds herself leaning into the touch.

       “Those _monsters_ are close-minded and ignorant.” He continues. She swoons at his voice. “They cannot harm you from here, however. My kin and I have very high respect for your kind.” He smiles, and her heart hammers. “We will treat you well.”

       She follows him, like a pup at his heels, and she doesn’t look back.

       Now that she does, however, she realizes that maybe she’s a little too late.

 

**Unwillingly;**

       She distances herself from _her_ in hopes of stifling the ache that boils in her chest every time a smile is brought forth or a giggle erupts or a twinkle shines from deep within cerulean blue eyes—

       She scowls, then blushes, then buries her face into her pillow.

        _Cerulean?_ She silently shrieks. _Where the hell did that come from?_

        _Paint streaked hands, maybe?_ Comes the reply from that traitorous part of her brain that never knows when to shut up. _Arguments about the psychological impact of colour palettes to the minds of the people, perhaps? You know you like it when_ she _gets worked up._

       “It’s nothing.” She murmurs to herself, shaking her head. The room replies with silence, and she finds the silence mocking.

       “It’s nothing!” She argues.

       She’s convincing no one, though.

       Brown curls and cynical smirks make it back into her mind’s eye and she groans.

       Why can’t _she_ leave her _alone_?

       “It’s nothing…” She murmurs once more, pulling her blanket over her head. “It’s nothing…”

       She sleeps, but full lips and wide smiles and curvy hips make it into her dreams, and her slumber is uneasy.

 

**And not at all.**

       There are two pints of beer between them and eleven empty glasses on the floor.

       “I don’t need ‘im— _Hic_.” Says one.

       “Yeah, you don’t need him!— _Hic_.” Says the other.

       They giggle at the face of it all and wake up the next morning with pounding headaches.

       One looks at the other with a raised brow. “Feeling better?”

       The other coughs and downs three aspirins and a bottle of water in one go. “Much better.”

       They stay in bed the whole day, wrapped in each other’s arms and cocooned in blankets, watching _Buffy_ reruns and eating ice cream straight from the cartons.

       After all, falling out of love is much easier when you have friends to catch you at the bottom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The third one was based off a quote in The Fault in Our Stars by John Green: "As he read, I fell in love the way you fall asleep: slowly, then all at once."
> 
> Some of the couples I had actually based off a few of my OTPs. If you can guess which ones, I shall reward you with virtual ice cream X3


	7. Chapter 7

to say something out loud is to accept it as fact  
and i can't do that  
not when my walls,  
so carefully built,  
are already crumbling with every hit  
your smile bestows.  
  
(let me live in denial a little bit more.)  
            
it's scary, really,  
to share your heart with another person.  
to have every pulse, every breath,  
whisper their name like a prayer.  
to have your nerve endings erupt with fire,

and your chest ache with both need and want.  
  
(let me live in denial a bit more.  
just a little bit more.)  
  
Electrifying,

to feel free.  
to feel able.  
to soar, off the cliff and into the clouds,  
with reassurance of arms to catch me

if i fly too close to the sun.

 

(You are so good.

 

So, so, _so_ good.)

  
  
let me live in denial.                     
  
just a bit more.  
  
because nothing good ever happens to me.

nothing beautiful ever stays.  
my hands destroy,  
silver and gold tarnish at my touch,  
my love is poison.  
  
so let me deny.  
let me pretend.  
let me keep you, just a bit longer.

  
because i can't be called a thief,  
if no one knows  
that somebody as precious as you  
belongs to somebody

 

like me.

 


End file.
